


The Waiting Game

by Rosewood_Writes



Series: Faded [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Corpses, Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 11:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosewood_Writes/pseuds/Rosewood_Writes
Summary: The rest of the inquisition gathers their wits and tends to their dead and wounded in the aftermath of the battle.





	The Waiting Game

Solas gritted his teeth as the healer turned his ankle ever so slightly. She smiled sympathetically as her cold fingers examined the break by the firelight. Two soldiers hovered over her, holding two sticks and a wad of cotton strips; materials for a splint.  
“Clean break,” She said. “Shouldn’t be too hard to repair. I just need some lyrium.”  
“No,” Solas shook his head. The last thing the group needed was to be wasting the energy of what few healers they had. Not when he was more than capable of fixing himself up. “There are others with more serious injuries. Treat them first. I can manage the healing myself.”  
With a weary nod, the healer and the soldiers left the tent, leaving the supplies for him. Grabbing the two planks, Solas went about preparing the splint. He straightened his leg and carefully positioned his ankle. Placing the two stakes on either side of his leg, he began to tie the splint into place.  
“Darkness falling, getting colder. Wound burns with every breath, but I must keep going….” Cole said quietly from where he lurked in the corner of the tent. Solas looked up from wrapping his leg, locking eyes with the spirit.  
“What do you feel?” Solas asked.  
“Wolves howling in the distance, hungry, hunting. Must find shelter. I must, I must….” Cole gripped at the sleeves of his shirt, staring at the ground with his usual, distant expression. “She is scared.”  
“Where is she, Cole. Can you find her?” Solas sat forward. Ethira had been missing since the explosion, and many feared she was among the dead and wounded in the battlefield. Even he was beginning to worry something had happened to her.  
But the spirit did not answer. Instead, his head snapped up when a branch snapped outside. Solas stretched out a hand to calm him, but the spirit shrunk back, eyes widening as he continued to stare at nothing.  
“Snarling fangs in the fire light. It’s either them or me,” He whispered as he vanished from sight. Solas hung his head. The spirit had been on edge since the explosion. Solas was worried about the gash on his young friend’s head. Could a spirit such as him suffer head trauma?  
Returning his attention to his ankle, he finished wrapping the splint. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he placed his hands on his leg and began to murmur the words to the spell. Warmth flowed from his hands and down into his injured leg, settling at his ankle. He gritted his teeth as his skin crawled and the bone began to fuse itself back together. With a weary sigh, he ended the spell.  
Blackwall popped his head into the tent. “You in any shape to walk? They’re taking the waggons to grab more wounded, and dispose of the dead templars. We could use your help lighting the way. Most of the other mages are busy seeing to the wounded.”  
Solas rolled his ankle twice, wincing slightly at the minor discomfort. With an effort, he rose to his feet taking a few wary steps before nodding his head. The leg would hold him for now. “I should be able to manage.”  
The warden stepped aside to let him out of the tent. Lifting his torch, he led the way through the camp towards the wagons. The last few tents had been pitched. Those that weren’t grievously injured ambled about the camp, helping carry wounded soldiers into tents to await the healers or hovered around the few fires that burned on the edge of camp, nursing their drinks with somber faces as they stared out into the darkness.  
They met up with a group of ten soldiers and two wagons. The horses pawed the ground, eyes wide as they tossed their heads from side to side. Solas shared in their discomfort. The battle had left the area feeling tense.  
Blackwall helped him up as the volunteers piled into the wagons. After some hushed coaxing, the horses started forward, back towards the battlefield. No one spoke on the way, too busy fidgeting restlessly with their hands or staring blankly into the night. Many likely suffered head trauma of some sort from the blast.  
A small group of men were already at the battlefield, standing around a giant bonfire that rose up in the middle of the carnage. Two men were walking the perimeter, staking torches into the ground to light the others. Those that weren't warming themselves were pulling corpses towards the fire in preparation to burn them or lining them up in two rows by the trail back to camp.  
The wagons stopped between the two lines of bodies to let everyone off. Once everyone had unloaded, the soldiers got to work loading the bodies into the wagons. Solas glimpsed inquisition gear in the faint firelight. He grimaced at how many bodies there were to load up, and how many were still laying about, unaccounted for yet. Blackwall handed Solas a torch and together they paced the area.  
The carrion birds had already descended upon the battlefield in the time it had taken them to set up camp. Though none of the buzzards remained, evidence of their presence was everywhere: entrails and gore were strewn about the corpses, along with a fair share of shed feathers. They had no sympathy for the dead, only an insatiable hunger.  
The ground squelched underfoot as Solas slowly paced the battlefield. Blood soaked the earth. The air tingled with uneasy energy; the Veil was thinner here now. So many deaths in such a short time had stretched it too thin too quickly.  
With the end of his staff, he turned the nearest corpse over. The bloated face of a red templar stared up at him, pale and deathly colored. He sighed, half in relief and half with disgust. Wearily, he looked around, scanning for any sign of her.  
A flash of blond hair in the torchlight caught his eye. Stomach clenching, he quickly hobbled over to the charred corpse and turned it over. But, it was not Ethira. His stomach eased, but the worry did not go away. There was no sign of her still, not even so much as a shred of proof she had even been present in the battle.  
Iron Bull was also unaccounted for. He was certainly not among the dead. That much they could be sure of. But he was nowhere to be seen either. The scouts had found a trace of him on the outskirts, but the trail quickly went cold.  
“I doubt she’ll be amongst the dead, Solas,” Blackwall grunted as he passed. He tossed the dead templar he carried into the bonfire and wiped his hands on his trousers. “The Herald lives. She’ll find her way back.”  
“I fear she is wounded, unable to move,” Solas replied. “They found a trail of blood and two sets of tracks---one that could be Ethira, and one they are almost certain is the Iron Bull---leading off to the east. But it went too deep for them to follow now that night has fallen. They're gathering a party to head out when dawn comes.”  
Blackwall nodded his head solemnly. “Think the second set of prints really is him? Or an enemy?”  
“Possibly the latter, but hopefully the former.” Solas stared at the group of soldiers combing the outskirts for any other possible indicator as to where the inquisitor had fled. “She can't have gone far.”  
“You aren't going with them?”  
“No; I would only slow them down.” Solas glanced at the splint around his lower leg with disdain. Of all times for him to encumbered, it was when she needed him most. He remembered how she had called his name so desperately as the templars beared down on him, ready to lay down her life to save him. It was his turn to be the savior.  
“You're lucky it was a clean break. Can’t you fix up a simple broken ankle?”  
“If that blood trail is any indicator as to how wounded Ethira is, then she needs my magic more than I do. I mended the worst of the damage for now.”  
“Those men could be out there for days, searching. It’s a big forest out there. Fix your ankle. We’re moving camp further up stream, away from the battlefield come morning. More Red Templars will come, and we lost some good men today. We can't afford another ambush.”  
Solas nodded stiffly, turning his gaze back to the forest. Blackwall patted his shoulder as he headed back to help move more bodies. “They’ll find her.”  
“If they cannot then I will,” Solas mumbled, turning to follow him. If he was lucky, he'd find her in the Fade when he finally slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Bull is unaccounted for, Ethira is safe, and the rest of the Inquisition has settled in to wait out the night. But things are about to get a lot worse for the gang before they get better.


End file.
